CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Owen
The car lurched slightly as the light turned green and I pressed down on the gas. My phone slid off the dashboard, tumbling onto the empty passenger seat and bouncing into the crevice beside the center console. I cursed under my breath, but I wasn’t upset to have the thing out of my sight. I’d been close to throwing it against a wall a handful of times over the past sixteen hours.
In my efforts to resolve my feelings about the horrible turn of events last night, I’d taken to blaming my phone as the catalyst. It all started with that damned call from Pippa. She had told me she was going to be at The Club, and like an idiot I’d disregarded the news and taken Tabby there anyway. I knew what Pippa was like. There had been several occasions over the last couple of years that she’d in no uncertain terms expressed her displeasure when I’d entertained any woman who wasn’t her. Be it due to arrogance or blind faith or a lapse in judgment, though, I’d underestimated the hussy and gone against my gut.
What she’d said pissed me off. I wasn’t going to deny that for the sake of my pride. Even if Tabby hadn’t been present, I still would have found Pippa’s words offensive. I certainly kept my romances confined to The Club, with this one recent exception, but more often than not the women I took home weren’t up for auction at all. In fact, if I really thought about it, I’d only participated in about a dozen auctions over the course of my seven-year membership, and considering auctions ran twice a week — sometimes three times, if there was a special event or an abundance of interest — a dozen was hardly acknowledgeable.
My feelings weren’t the crux of the problem, however. I’d come to that realization sometime around sunrise after pacing my room for hours. I wasn’t fuming because I was insulted but because Pippa’s slander had impacted Tabby exactly as she’d hoped it would. The entire limo ride back to Tabby’s hotel was spent in silence, but I didn’t need to hear she was bothered to know it. When she didn’t answer me right away about coming to the soft opening, I’d actually felt a flicker of panic. I forgot completely about getting her naked and ravaging her beautiful body. The only thing I’d wanted was to know she was okay.
And to know we were okay.
I was hooked. I knew that now. It took the fear of Tabby’s feelings for me souring to realize it was true, and I wasn’t going to waste my time denying it any longer. I cared for the woman, and I was determined to right whatever she felt had gone wrong last night.
The idea came to me when I woke up from a short sleep. I remembered her comment at the restaurant about extravagant spending being unnecessary, and I jumped into action. In an enormous closet filled with enough suits to impress Steve Harvey, I found a pair of jeans with the tags still attached. The shirt was easier as I still wanted to look nice, so I selected a simple silver button-down from one of the many options. A shower, some man-primping, and a choice of shoes later, I jumped into my limo and had Stephan drive me to get a rental car.
My only chance to save this relationship, whatever it was, would be if she knew me. Really knew me.
So, now, I was driving to the Ritz in a rented Honda without Stephan, champagne, or a tie. It was a first for me, and I didn’t hate it.
Her face contorted when I pulled up beneath the valet canopy and she realized I was behind the wheel of the simple vehicle. I climbed out, rounded to the passenger side, and opened the door for her. “Your chariot,” I said chivalrously by way of greeting.
“Thanks.” I could hear the awe in her voice as I helped her slide onto the cloth seat. I’d taken the car to a gas station before coming to pick her up so I could vacuum the hell out of those seats first.
When I got back in and slammed my door behind me, she admitted, “I never imagined you driving a Honda. Actually, I never imagined you driving at all.”
“I’m full of surprises,” I joked. My brain grimaced, jabbing me with a reminder about Pippa’s remark.
“I’m getting that impression,” Tabby replied, and I was pleased to hear no amount of resentment in her tone. She reached out and plucked at my pantleg. “You’re in jeans too. I figured you came out of the womb in Italian wool.”
“Listen, Miss Wit,” I teased. “You told me last night that I didn’t need to be so over-the-top. So, guess what? You’re getting the Average Joe romancing tonight.”
She giggled. The sound was like music to my ears. “Fine, but if you start telling me about every kind of football play in existence or the disgusting ways you and your friends figured out to open a beer, I’m going to do the Average Jane romancing.”
“Yeah? What does that entail?”
“Texting my friend and having her call me with some kind of emergency that means I need to leave right away,” she revealed.
I burst into guffaws. “Don’t tell me women actually do that!” I exclaimed through my laughter.
Tabby widened her eyes and nodded her head solemnly as she said, “Oh, yeah. All the time. My best friend, Heather, has had me call her so many times that she just texts a C now and I know I’m supposed to bail her out.”
“What about you?” I asked, pulling my eyes off the road to glance at her and still chuckling. “Are you a frequent faker?”
“Twice,” she confessed as she flashed a peace sign. “And both times were because the guys were doing exactly what I just warned you against.”
Whatever shift in mood we’d experienced last night seemed to be gone. Maybe I’d read too much into it or maybe Tabby was just waiting until we were at the restaurant to get serious, but either way the rest of the ride was thoroughly enjoyable and easygoing. I was feeling so good about our refreshed dynamic that, when I pulled into a parking space and turned the car off, I turned and brazenly planted my mouth on hers. She didn’t pull away. I snaked my tongue between her lips and felt the familiar throb in my cock as her tongue flicked over mine in response. Everything felt right again.
I lightly clutched her waist as I guided her into the restaurant, and I was instantly greeted by one of the hostesses. While I’d met a large number of the employees, hiring the staff hadn’t been something I was involved with and I didn’t know the girl, but she seemed to know me. Her posture straightened, her smile brightened, and her voice rose a note or two as she introduced herself. “Hi, Mr. Driscoll. I’m Sarah, and I’ll be your hostess this evening. We’re so glad to see you tonight. May I show you to your table?”
“Thank you,” I said. As she turned her back and started walking into the swanky dining area, I reached into my pocket with my free hand and tickled Tabby’s side with the other.
“Stop it!” she hissed with a muffled giggle and a twitch. “There’s people here!”
“So?” I challenged, scribbling my nails against her ribs again. “I’m one of the investors. That makes me a guest of honor. If I wanted to, I could throw you on top of any one of these tables and tickle you into next Sunday, and nobody would say a damn word about it.”
She snapped her mouth shut to silence a yelp and grappled with my hand in a poor attempt to stop me from continuing the torture.
“I could throw you on top of a table and do a whole lot of other things, too,” I added softly, smirking.
Her lips turned upward, and she batted my arm in a half-hearted admonishment. I snickered in response and came to a halt behind Sarah as she turned and gestured toward an empty, beautifully set table. “Here we are!” she announced.
“Thank you,” I said, withdrawing my hand from my pocket and handing her a loose twenty. Her eyes widened appreciatively, and she waited until Tabby and I were settled to lay menus down before us and wish us a pleasant dining experience.
“You know,” Tabby murmured sagely, “an Average Joe wouldn’t have tipped her.”
I made a face and replied, “And you waste your time with such uncharitable crooks?”
“Not lately,” she laughed.
A man swooped down on our table with a pitcher of water in hand. “How you are doing tonight?” he asked in broken English, taking Tabby’s empty glass first and pouring a generous amount of iced water with lemon slices into it.
“Very well, thank you,” I told him easily. “And how are you?”
“Very good, sir, very good.”
“Anything special going on in your life?”
He smiled in a comical, toothy manner and shook his head. “Oh, no, sir. Just working.”
“Well, in this economy, working is a special thing,” I assured him. “Keep it up.”
His boyish beam widened, and he bowed his head before scurrying away. Tabby leaned across the table with amusement on her face and said in an audible whisper, “An Average Joe wouldn’t have asked about his life, either.”
“Yeah? I’m a rule-breaker,” I shot back playfully.
She laughed and sat back, then her face slowly changed. While her orbs still twinkled, her jaw hardened and her cheekbones became tight. I knew what was coming before it came, but I refused to allow myself to shut down and whip out my standard vague responses. Like it or not, I’d acknowledged my feelings for Tabby to myself and closing off now would essentially guarantee a reboot of last night’s tension.
“So,” she said, knitting her fingers together and watching me closely. “I hear you don’t like your women for free.”